Maps

As a child, I didn`t know where anything was. In my immediate surroundings, yes, but also on a geographic basis: the world, to my tiny eyes, was Welwyn Garden City and the little bit of Hatfield we drove through to get to the swimming pool. I didn`t know where Norfolk was; I didn`t know where Ireland was, and I had no idea where or why Wales was; I knew where France was - because that was where my Aunty lived, and she bought me really nice presents - but I didn`t know where China was, or Russia, and I`m not quite sure I`d even heard of Japan. All I knew was that these places were very far away and had nothing whatsoever to do with me, and that was just fine thankyou very much.

Geography, in truth, was my least favourite subject at school. I wasn`t allowed to be creative when we coloured in maps - apparently I had to stick to the allocated colours and any attempted shading was not appreciated - and I had absolutely zero interest in anything that looked remotely like a symbol for a post office. For a child who loved every single moment of school that involved studying (and loathed any moment of school that involved any other children, which was unfortunate because there were quite a lot of them), I have no idea what kind of shocking techniques my Geography teacher employed, but I hated him and I hated his terrible subject with a passion I only otherwise felt for the art teacher who kept trying to draw on my work. So the world - after it was forced down my throat - simply bounced straight back up again. And at the age of 20 I still thought that Belize was in Europe and Nepal was in South America.

My love of the world and geography - of real Geography (which means, as far as I`m concerned, knowing where countries are and a little bit about each of them, and wanting to go there) - therefore came late. Really, really late. At around the age of 21, in fact, when I suddenly realised that if you went very far in any direction from any position in England you ended up in a much, much more interesting place: a place that wasn`t England. And that was a good thing.

So it`s ironic, really, that as a teacher of English abroad I`ve managed to do the absolute opposite for my students.

Encouraging a passion for the world - for different cultures, and different countries, and different people - is what keeps me going at work (that, and buying things on Ebay), so it stands to reason that the best thing I`ve bought to Kitago Elementary school is a Penpal exchange scheme with my sister`s class in Brighton. A Penpal exchange scheme that worked so smoothly - identical amounts of children, identical ages - that I barely even noticed we`d set it up. It started with mutual Christmas cards at the end of December, and now 34 nine year olds in Japan are Best Friends Forever with 34 nine year olds in England, and my sister and I barely had to lift a finger.

And the change has been astronomical.

Suddenly, England exists. I can stand as long as I like next to a blackboard, a living and breathing example of the fact that England exists, but I don`t think that any of the children in my second grade class actually believed me. One set of cards with little photos on them - their very own English person, to name and cut out and keep - and they suddenly know that England is real.

"Mine is so cuuuutttee!" one of my girls shouted, cuddling a photo of a girl from Hove called Hannah.
"Mine is cuter!" her friend yelled, trying to trump Hannah with Jessica.
"Well mine has red hair, just like Ron Weasley!" a little boy triumphed. "None of yours have red hair!"
"Mine could beat yours at skipping rope any day," someone else shouted.
"But mine has yellow hair like Holly Sensei, so I win!" another jeered.
And when I told them that my sister would be visiting in person in April, and that they would be getting new cards in a few weeks, they stood up, air punched and screeched "Whooooooooooohhhhooooooooo!" It is only a matter of time before they allocate each other points for various aspects of their Penpal, and start swapping them in the playground.

For my class, though, English children are exciting, but not unimaginable: they can speak a little English (I hope: I try, anyway), they know where England is (now: it`s taken me nine months of map pointing) and they see me every day, and I fly the English flag for them far more passionately than I would anywhere else in the world (I`m up against all the Americans here). For my sister`s class in Brighton, on the otherhand, the concept of writing to a Japanese class has - according to Tara - taken them to a level of excitement she doesn`t otherwise see unless chocolate is involved.

"I`m serious," she told me last night. "They`re obsessed. It`s scary. We`re talking about a class full of nine year olds who don`t know where London is, and they`re coming in to registration every morning full of facts about Japan, because they`re all going home and they`re looking it up on the internet every night. It`s all, `did you know that that in April the cherry blossoms come out and they`re called Sakura, Miss Smale` and `Tokyo is the capital of Japan, Miss Smale,` and `did you know that Manga is what they call their cartoons, Miss Smale`. They made me set up a Japanese display on the wall. They want me to play games in Japanese - I`ve had to learn basic words so that I can teach them - and today we`re making Origami. One Christmas card from a Japanese class and my students are absolutely in love with the entire country. I`m just terrified of the next question, which is going to be: Miss Smale, when do we get to go to Japan and meet them?"

And that, I think, is the whole point of teaching. Within a month, over 60 children who had no interest whatsoever in any part of the world other than Kitago and Brighton are fascinated in somewhere else, and in the people who come from there. They want to know everything: what they eat, what they wear, how they speak, what games they play. And they`re realising already what it took me 21 years to conclude: that the world isn`t a big flat bit of paper to shade in and stick pins in, but a place full of people to talk to and things to learn and fun things to do. That they can go there. That they can communicate with it. That they can be a part of it too.

So, while I may not have known where anything was as a child - or have been interested in any part of the world I wasn`t standing directly on - I think I`m finally making up for it now. By bringing the world to where I am, and giving it to my children.

And sending a little bit of it back home to England.